


Sleeping Patterns

by rovio



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Implied Consent, M/M, Masturbation, No Dialogue, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13002027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rovio/pseuds/rovio
Summary: Phichit used to wonder if Celestino even knew who did this to him, if he just assumed he'd gotten blackout drunk and lucky with a stranger who'd then left.After a drunken night out in Beijing, Phichit indulges himself.





	Sleeping Patterns

**Author's Note:**

> An edited version of a kink meme fill for _Phichit/Celestino, somnophilia_. Set during episode 6.

Phichit always has cash in his pocket just for these occasions. He thrusts a handful to the stone-faced taxi driver before shoving her out of the door. It was great of her to help him haul his drunken mess of a coach from the car up to the hotel room, but he can handle the rest on his own.

There's no need to hurry though, so Phichit leans his sweaty forehead on the cool window and just looks at Beijing. From this high up, the city is a mess of flashing lights and millions of people, and one day he'll come back here. Not to skate but to explore it like a tourist on a holiday would. He hopes Celestino is still with him.

Phichit sighs and turns around. He didn't turn on the lights but the room isn't so dark that he can't see Celestino on the bed. He's a long line of dark clothes and messy hair and a profile Phichit would recognize anywhere.

They'd made a game of it once, back when Yuuri was still with them. Close your eyes and let your fingers see instead of them. Celestino had laughed but he'd still let them touch him too, map his brows and nose and the cleft on his chin. It had been fun and easy. Everything had been easier with Yuuri as an excuse and a partner in crime.

They used to do this together too, sometimes, because Yuuri could drink anyone under the table and still stand up straight. He could definitely outdrink Celestino who usually ended up hanging on their shoulders like a bag of rice while they got him home. They always put him on his couch or into his bed with minimal amount of bumps and bruises, and then Yuuri left. 

He never asked why Phichit stayed, just like Phichit never asked where Yuuri went on the nights he didn't come home at all. He always wanted to ask, but he knew that Yuuri wouldn't have answered so why bother? His imagination and Yuuri's rumpled clothes were usually enough to fill in the blanks anyway.

Phichit crosses the room, feeling a bit wistful, and looks at his coach. Celestino's a real lightweight for a man of his size and he doesn't react at all when Phichit unties his shoelaces and pulls his shoes off. The mismatched socks follow them to the floor and Celestino doesn't even twitch.

Objectively, Celestino has kind of ugly feet. Hairy toes that have been broken too often to be a perfect, pretty line anymore. There are scars from old injuries and Phichit knows Celestino's right ankle hurts when it rains. He's complained about that often enough. Anyone else and Phichit might wrinkle his nose now and okay, he does that because Celestino has been on his feet all day and it shows. Smells. Better not to linger on that.

Phichit's had a lot of practice dealing with the belt.

He gets on the bed and hovers over Celestino's sleeping body. He's still breathing deep and steady, hands curled into loose fists by his head and tangled in his wild hair. Phichit draws a gentle finger down his nose ( _big_ , Celestino had laughed, and _distinguished_ , Phichit had insisted and laughed too) to his soft lips and pushes down a little, just to see what Celestino will do. 

Luckily nothing, which means that Phichit can continue. He kneels above Celestino so low that he's practically sitting on his muscled thighs. The leather belt slides free easily enough when Phichit gets a hand under Celestino's firm ass and lifts it up. He has to swallow down a mouthful of saliva because he's never gotten used to this part. The ass he's touching, the shape of the dick he can feel through their clothes.

Celestino's cock is soft but it's still big and hot through two pairs of pants and at least one pair of underwear. Skaters gossip like Phichit's ancient great-grannies, and there are so many rumors at their rink about the exact size and shape of Celestino's hard dick. Apparently it's the reason Celestino usually lets the other guy do the fucking. He's a nice and generous man like that or at least that's what Phichit's heard. He hasn't experienced it personally yet.

Unlike his very considerate coach, Phichit is getting hard. He rarely needs more than his own imagination to get going so this is always more than enough. He throws the belt aside to get both hands under Celestino's ass and heft him even closer. He never wakes up for this so Phichit doesn't even try to be careful when he grinds down and rubs his dick against Celestino's. 

It's hot, it's _amazing_ , and it'd be even better if they were both naked, but that's an invisible line Phichit has drawn in the sand. He pops the button open and unzips Celestino fly, and that's as far as this road goes. When he gets his hands on Celestino's cock for the first time, it's because Celestino takes his pants off himself.

Phichit can and does draw his own dick out though. It's hard and wet at the tip already, and it's a relief because his jeans were getting seriously uncomfortable. He bites his lip, looking at the man between his knees and stroking his dick slowly. 

Eventually he lets go of his dick and pushes Celestino's soft shirt up to his armpits, leaving it there. It's too much of a struggle to try to get it off when Celestino isn't helping any, and there's something special about seeing him like this, half-naked and vulnerable.

Hot too, Phichit thinks, eyes on the expanse of skin and body hair below him. So hot.

Celestino is so much bigger than he is, taller and wider all over. He's not that young and he isn't skating much anymore and it shows, but under the thin layer of fat and Phichit's exploring fingers is still hard muscle and solid bones.

Phichit wants him to use all that strength to lift him up, pin him against a wall and fuck him until he screams. He's had vivid, detailed fantasies about that, and he's counting on it happening sooner or later. Preferably sooner, he's not _that_ patient.

But right now Celestino is sleeping, his wide chest rising and falling steadily under Phichit's palm. He's learned through trial and heart-stopping terror that the dusky nipples are a no-go zone unless he wants to wake Celestino up for real. As tempting as they are, it's much safer to rake his fingers through the wiry chest hair and that feels good too, awesome even. Phichit wants to rub himself all over Celestino's chest and feel it against his own smooth skin. He'd be so red and tingling and sensitive to touch after that, he just knows it.

Phichit grabs his cock and gives it a few strokes, and then he moves until he's sitting on Celestino's hips. His breath hitches when a bead of precome drops from his cock to his knuckles and then down onto Celestino. The room is dark but not so dark that Phichit can't see this. Nothing short of a gold medal could make him look away until the heavy drop has soaked into the thick hair on Celestino's belly. 

Then he lifts his eyes to Celestino's face.

Celestino's still sleeping if that kind of heavy sleep even _is_ sleep instead of unconsciousness. His eyes are closed and his lips are parted and Phichit bows down until he's leaning on his elbow and they're sharing a breath. His other hand is working on his dick, twisting around the head and his fingers drag all the way down to his tightly drawn balls. 

He's so close already and Celestino hasn't even done anything except existed.

The room is silent save for Phichit's heavy breathing and the wet, filthy sounds of him jacking off. It never takes long when he gets this far, when he's a hairbreadth away from the stubbled jaw and a kiss. It's another line drawn in the sand so he doesn't, he just looks and soaks in the closeness until it's too much and he's coiled so tight he knows he'll snap any second now.

He sits up, back straight, and it doesn't take more than one well-practiced flick of a wrist to come all over his sleeping coach. Phichit bites his tongue to keep from shouting as the orgasm tears through him and watches as his jizz paints Celestino's chest and stomach. 

Phichit's fingers itch for his phone before he even gets his breath back and this is a line he crossed months ago. He gets his phone out of his back pocket with sticky fingers, and for once he doesn't even mind the smudges on the screen and the case. He can clean them up later. 

He's done this often enough to remember to turn off the flash and then he just hopes for the best. The quality will be low but that's fine. He doesn't need an HD photo of this, a suggestion of what happened here is enough. He knows his brain is all too eager to fill in the sexy details when he's alone and his hand is around his dick again. 

Still, it's kind of unfortunate that he's not idiotic enough to take a picture of Celestino's face tonight either. Never mind the risk on his own reputation, it's Celestino's that matters more since he's the coach and so much older too.

Sometimes Phichit has wondered what would happen if someone stole his phone and saw the rows and rows of photos of a hairy chest striped with come. They're not a proof anything but his own tastes, but he knows people would connect the dots anyway. He really should delete the pictures but his heart and dick are weak and he never does. Maybe when he finally gets to look at the real deal every night.

The real deal hasn't even twitched in his sleep and is, in fact, drooling on his pillow. It's gross and cute and Phichit smiles when he stuffs his softening cock back into his pants and zips up. He considers pulling Celestino's shirt back down but no, it's better to leave it like that so that Phichit's come dries on him and doesn't soak into his shirt.

Phichit gets up carefully and adjusts his clothes. Celestino looks like a lazy, sexy wreck so once again, it's a job well done. He won't say anything about this in the morning because he never does. 

Phichit used to wonder if Celestino even knew who did this to him, if he just assumed he'd gotten blackout drunk and lucky with a stranger who'd then left. Then he realized that Celestino wouldn't believe for a minute that Phichit left him alone or with a horny stranger if he's that drunk. Out of the two of them, it's Phichit who's the responsible one when they drink together.

Considering that, there's exactly one suspect left in the game of Guess Who Came All Over Me While I Was Sleeping The Booze Off.

Since Celestino keeps quiet about it, Phichit takes it as a tacit permission to continue. He'd really like to do this when they're both sober and awake, but that time just isn't here yet. He needs to prove himself first and show that he's not a flighty kid anymore.

He reaches out to tug a strand of hair behind Celestino's ear and sweep his thumb across a high cheekbone. Celestino's eyelids flutter and Phichit is at the door almost faster than he skates at the rink. He can't get caught here, not now. That'd ruin everything.

With a one last look over his shoulder, he opens the door and steps into the hallway. His room is across Celestino's and his phone burns in his pocket. If it weren't for the competition tomorrow, he'd jerk off more than once tonight. As it is, he'll just shower, sleep and wake up again. Then he'll meet Celestino's eyes over the breakfast table and smile, and they'll carry on as usual, as if nothing happened here tonight. It's a familiar pattern by now.


End file.
